The Lost Platoon
by xindude
Summary: The Lost Platoon, just a short story I cooked up.... PLEASE read and review.


**The Lost Platoon**  
**T**hey were thirteen.

Only Thirteen.

Thirteen rifles pointing warily out of 5 scattered foxholes.

How did these few Terran arrive in their present situation? What was supposed to be a routine recon mission turned out, as it usually does, to be an ambush. The squadron of marines, and their Ghost/scout, ran into more zerg than you could shake a battlecruiser at. The numerically superior aliens eventually managed to cut the soldiers' only escape route off, so the remaining men made a mad dash to the only dominating land feature available- a small hill. Here they dug a rough circle of defensive foxholes, and began the wait until the zerg returned to finish them off.

This brings us to our present situation.

First Sergeant Max Lewis looked to his right at the masked face of their 'fearless leader.' Their normal commander had been one of the few killed in the initial onslaught. This left the Ghost in charge. Though he did not know the man under the black mask, he could not help but trust him. Ghosts were the best of the best, weren't they? Yet, something about the man still unnerved him… he felt naked, for some reason, when the Ghost's goggled visage turned towards him, even for the briefest of moments. He cleared his mind of this and spoke, "Commander, how long do ya think we got 'fore they come again?"

"Not too long." The Ghost replied. "I can see dust stirring up in the distance. Something's moving for sure. Could be relief." He turned towards Lewis, incurring another shiver of unease, "You better alert the rest of the men. If we want to make it through this, we need one hundred percent from everyone. No bullshit. Get going." As the marine scrambled out of the hole, the ghost, known only by his call-sign "Delta 6-1" (or just "Commander" to the enlisted men and NCOs) surveyed the other 2 members of the hole. Privates Sam Hoff and Jacob Lawson clutched their C-14 "Impaler" Gauss rifles nervously. August knew neither man had ever seen combat before today, and were indeed feeling the strain.

"How're you boys doing?" he ventured.

Hoff nodded his head.

Lawson spoke. "I'm alright, sir." August felt their fear, their hesitation. Their distrust. He didn't like it any more than they did.

A moment later there was a clash of metal against metal as Sergeant Lewis jumped back into the hole. "The boys're ready, sir. There isn't an abundance of ammo, but I believe we can take a chunk out of whatever they hit us with."

August nodded. He pushed himself out of the hole, and gazed out onto the barren landscape. His optically enhanced eyes quickly picked up a large column of zerg approaching their position. The time to address the troops was now. He stood and removed his mask, revealing his face for the first time to the troops. This would allow the frightened men to hear his real voice, and not the mechanized hiss the voice scrambler emitted when he wore his mask.

"Alright," he raised his voice so all could hear, "The zerg are going to get here in less than 5 minutes. Conserve your ammunition. Fire at what you can hit." How many commanders in bad situations had uttered these very words? He thought. "Look out for the men in the hole with you. Keep a sharp eye to our flanks. If they get behind us, well, we're fucked." He hesitated before dropping back into the hole, and added, "I know I'm not as familiar with you as your normal commander, but I assure you, I'll see this through. Everyone stay alert. Any minute, now." He looked at the men in each foxhole, feeling their unease wash over him, and dropped back into his hole.

"Sir, why hasn't HQ-" Sergeant Lewis flinched as August glanced towards him. After an awkward moment and a puzzled look, August remembered. His mask. He forgot to put it back on after his little speech. Though his 'new eyes' gave him three times the normal range of any other man's eyes, the ocular implants had left his eyes looking like something out of a bad Sci-Fi movie on the holovid.

"Sir, I'm sorry I just-"

"Don't worry about it, Sergeant." August said, attempting to salvage his pride, "It took me awhile to adjust to the way this looked, as well." He slipped the mask back on, returning to his world of readout numbers and range indicators that the sensors in his mask portrayed constantly. "Do continue," the voice scrambler hissed.

"I was wondering," he began again, "that is to say, uh, why HQ hadn't made contact with us or anything. I know we're overdue for our return time, by now."

August nodded his head and simultaneously cursed the government contractor who had designed the comlinks equipped in basic Terran envirosuits and HQ for not having the foresight to upgrade them. "One of two reasons I can think of. These comlinks are out of range- again. Or HQ is under siege right this minute."

Private Hoff spoke up, "That might explain why the zerg hadn't chased after us right away, huh, sir? HQ is probly' a bit more important than we are to their hive."

"Correct-" Just as August began to finish his sentence, a marine from one of the adjacent holes screamed, "Shit, they're coming! Get ready!" Any thought of HQ or the faulty comlinks were gone as August simultaneously slid a round into the chamber of his powerful C-10 rifle, and stood up in the hole.

He saw what the man was talking about. About 900 yards away, the Zerg were rapidly advancing. There were many, so many. August disengaged the safety of his rifle, and checked to make sure all 6 of his frag grenades were clipped on to his harness and ready to go. He glanced to his left and saw the other three men in the foxhole checking their rifles and readying themselves for what was about to come. He was glad their training was taking over. Fear, doubt, and hesitation: all were replaced by the training, which they had all received. He realized these were good men, yet this was no time for realization.

August returned his gaze to the land below the hill. The zerg were steadily approaching. 600 yards. 

"Hold your fire until they hit 20o yards!" He yelled. He glanced at the gauge on his rifle. 30 rounds. Multiply that by 8 clips, and he had enough rounds to hold off quite a few of the small creatures that raced closer and closer. 500 yards.

August felt the minds of the men around him. He could feel their thoughts. 

Anger. Anxiety. Excitement. Fear. Above all, fear. Every man was afraid, including himself.

400 yards.

The targeting sensors in his mask's scope counted nearly 70 zerglings with 50 hydralisks in support. This was going to be messy.

300 yards.

Almost as one, all thirteen men raised their rifles to their shoulders and focused on an individual creature. "Lock onto a target! Hit that one, move on to another. Keep your eyes open, and be smart!" The voice rasping out of the mask no longer belonged to Commander August Markos, but to the well-trained and deadly soldier he had worked so hard and sacrificed to become.

200 yards. The delicate targeting sensors in the HUD's of every soldier finally read 200 yards. Hell erupted. Each soldier individually focused on one zerg, blowing it to pieces. Almost immediately, each man moved on to another. The bursts from the Gauss rifles combined with the more powerful single shot of August's C-10 took down the first wave of zerglings (the hydralisks lagged behind, letting the smaller zerglings clear a path for them) before they reached 50 yards. More followed, however, and the line of aliens crept closer to the first of the foxholes. The firing slowly became reckless. The zerg had raced halfway up the hill, nearly 10 yards from the edge of the foxhole line. Every time a zergling fell, another took its place. There was no need to take careful aim anymore. Each man only had to point his rifle in front of him, and pull the trigger. He was guaranteed to hit something. The whizzing of hypersonic bullets mixed with the primal cries and battle roars of the zerg to create a symphony of chaos, while the rhythmic clicking of the Ghost's C-10 kept time in this grisly ballad. Yet they pushed ever closer. In the seconds before they reached the first hole, every man prepared himself. Some uttered a quick, desperate prayer, others thought of a loved one, or a memory of better times. August thought of nothing, and blasted another zergling with a shot from his C-10.

Just as the zerglings began to reach the hole, Private Hoff fell, their first casualty in this fight. What surprised August was that Hoff had been hit from… behind. The hydralisks had out-flanked them. Goddammit, he thought, the zerglings were a screen for the hydra's rear assault- there goes our defilade. August turned to his rear, and saw the hydralisks spread in a long semi circle, just overlapping with the last line of decimated zerglings. He knew the zerglings would soon be done for, but the hyralisks would finish them for sure. The only thing to do, he knew, would be to try to take out as many of the hydras as possible with frag grenades, and then try to mop up the rest with rifle fire. He put this plan into action by screaming at the remaining 12 troops: "Hydras to the rear! Look sharp!

Take the rest of the zerglings, and start lobbing grenades at the hydras! 

Make every shot count! MOVE IT."

The dull moan of battle again became a howling curse. Screaming.

Explosions. The rattling bursts from the gauss rifles laid the background for the distinguishable click-boom of the powerful C-10.

In the face of that withering fire, the remaining zerglings fell. As one, the marines (and ghost) turned to face the next threat. Nothing. 

"Where-"

"What the f-"

"I thought-"

August pulled himself out of the hole. He kneeled, and swept his head from side to side, his eyes probing for any sign of movement. Suddenly, there was an explosion to his left; someone had thrown a grenade. August ran in a crouch to the furthermost right foxhole to discover what happened. He dropped into the hole and came face to face with its occupants.

"What did you see out there, Corporal-"

"Lance Corporal Dixson, sir. I saw a hydra, sir."

"I don't doubt you. How close was-" Just then, a scream broke the relative silence. Another interruption, August thought. He cautiously exited the rightmost foxhole and made his way to the furthermost left. Of the original two occupants of this foxhole, only one still remained; covered in his comrade's gore. His skin was pale, and sweat shone on his forehead through the depression in his enviro-suit. The stress was quickly overcoming these mostly young conscripts. "Soldier- what happened here?"

The boy could not speak. He shook as if the broken body of his comrade rocked every fiber of his being, a scant meter away. The ghost peered into the foxhole at the body. He had been shredded. There was no other term usable in this scenario. There was little left to tell he had been a marine, much less a human.

Finally, the young marine, covered in blood, was able to utter three syllables that struck deep fear into the Ghost's heart, "L-Lurkerss." The Ghost cursed his luck. Without a Comsat station or a Science Vessel, there was no hope at all of finding the location of the lurkers themselves. The hydras were nowhere do be seen, either.

"Doubtless," the Ghost thought, "a few of the hydras had evolved during or just before the firefight." The disturbing speed in which hydralisks can evolve into their deathly cousins is absolutely fascinating to the scientists and zoologists back at the base. To the Ghost and the rest of the recon squad, it is absolutely terrifying.

Just then, on the brink of no hope, an unexpected crackle came from the internal comlink system in the Ghost's mask, "HQ to Task Force 881, do you read, over?"

"YES, SIR!" Commander August Marko nearly yelled back, "We read loud and CLEAR! We've been waiting, glad you called!" As the words came out of his mouth, two lurkers appeared not 40 yards beyond the outer perimeter of foxholes. Without an order, everyone except the Ghost opened up. One died, one retreated.

"Do you request extraction 881?" the voice, the lifeline, queried over the link.

"Yes, sir! Immediately, if possible!"

"Rodger that, ghost. Expect in 5."

The Ghost shouted the ETA to all foxholes, and ordered that everyone pull in tight and cover their own fire sector until the dropship arrived. Commander August Marko breathed deep, and slumped into the bottom of his foxhole. Against the odds and his better judgment he and his rag-tag squad Marines had defended themselves against a much larger Zerg attack! 

Unfortunately, he knew, this one battle meant nothing to the larger campaign the Terran sector was waging against the Zerg remnant, but he had done his part, as had his Marines. They earned their seats in the dropship, and they earned the quiet sleep that night of the victorious. Tomorrow, however, could be another matter.


End file.
